


Not Jedi

by starforged



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Gen, gift exchange 2016, post-ending fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9071491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/pseuds/starforged
Summary: She's not a Jedi, like her master before her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> for jeirhana for the 2016 kotor gift exchange

She doesn’t wear as many revealing clothes as she used to. Okay, maybe sometimes, but it really depends on what she’s doing. There’s still a shirt or two in the wardrobe that’s a little further cut down than some people would want. She’s a Jedi, right? But she doesn’t want to rely on the Force for everything if she can help it.

It’s just not Mira’s thing. 

The skills that she was raised with, that she _earned_ , those are infinitely more important to her. Being a Jedi, that’s just something she feels like she owes to her first - her only - master.

A strange thing to call a woman who wouldn’t even call herself a Jedi to begin with. 

She stretches her legs out in front of her, watching the bounty hunter that has had his eye on her since the moment she walked into the cantina take them in. They’re not her best asset, but she’s pleased with them. Long, shapely, butt kicking. The tight pants maybe don’t help, but hey. This is a new kind of Order. 

Meetra would be pleased. 

She hopes. 

She glances back at the man from under a fringe of bright red hair, muscles tugging into a typical smirk. The corner of her mouth dips up. She looks away. 

He’s hunting her. That much is obvious.

He’s not very good at it. 

What were they teaching the kids these days?

He’s younger than her, a good ten years at the very least. He was a slip of nothing when she was traversing into the darkest places of this galaxy alongside the best - the _worst_ \- it had to offer. He’s not exactly new to this, that’s obvious enough. Maybe a few years, at most. Long enough to not be green around the gills anymore. It’s long enough that he knows he should be a little more coy, a little bit more hidden.

She has to wonder if there’s a bounty on her head and why.

She has to wonder if maybe she hasn’t gone paranoid a bit. 

The Jedi aren’t galaxy-wide accepted anymore. The Mandalorians never were. 

Mira’s got two kriffin’ strikes against her, and it doesn’t exactly make her feel entirely safe. That’s how she likes it, but a little break doesn’t hurt. 

She stretches her torso out a little more, the lightsaber hidden against her back digging into her skin. It’s one of the reasons for the less revealing clothes. She keeps her stolen weapon hidden away from the world, from those that would blame her for Revan and Malak and Nihilus and Sion. 

His gaze follows the length of skin revealed. Men are all the same. All species, all ages. Always the same. She has to actively resist rolling her eyes. 

The play the game for a little longer until he finally comes over to her booth, two drinks in hand. 

“Looks like you could use another one.”

Her glass is still full, but with a wink, she downs it. “Now I can.”

She scoots over, letting him into the seat next to her. He doesn’t get too close. Smart. But he’s close enough to not set off alarms to anyone else, including herself. The glass is cool in her hand, not warm and watered down like her last drink. It’s still burning in the back of her throat, which is almost as distracting as the buzz of electricity running up and down her arm like a scream.

This man brings bad news. 

“What brings you to Onderon? Not many visitors in this place.”

She remembers being here, years ago. The political revolution. The choice between a queen who would join the Republic and the general who would betray his leader and destroy his people. It’s still beautiful and hot and filled with strange beasts. It’s so much more quiet now. 

Maybe not. 

“What brings _you?_ ” Mira asks in return. 

He looks surprised at the question, as if he really can’t believe that he’s been made as something other than a local. And then he relaxes a little bit, his mouth forming something that was like a smile. 

Her heart hammers against her chest, and not for all the reasons that would get most girls to follow a guy to a room after a couple of drinks. That smile is mildly terrifying, or maybe it’s just her paranoia catching up with her. She doesn’t like feeling hunted, being hunted. Strong, dark paws flash in her mind, and for a second, her throat closes around her. 

Only for a second, and the flashback is gone again. 

“I was told,” he says, leaning in. He smells too clean for Onderon. His nose is too big, his eyes too small, his smile too bright. His dark hair is cropped close to his scalp, and his breath smells sweetly of Corellian brandy. “There was a Jedi here.”

She wishes Mical was here. Visas. Hell, she’d take Rand. 

“Funny,” she snorts. “I hear the Jedi are extinct.” She lifts the drink to her lips, but never stops watching him. 

She doesn’t actually drink, worried about poisons or toxins. 

“That’s some fairy tale, though, to bring you all the way here on the Outer Rim.” Mira places the glass down and gets to her feet with a grace that’s not her own but more like her friend. “I don’t have time for stories.”

“Not even one that will help you, Jedi?”

The man keeps his voice low, of course. He doesn’t want to risk any public reaction, regardless of what it is.

Mira tilts her head and arches an eyebrow at him. She places her hand on her hip. “Seriously? That’s the best you can come up with? I know I’m a catch, but I don’t know if I want to deal with such desperation. Cute, though. I’ll give you points for effort.”

“I didn’t know that Jedi talked this much,” he says as she began to walk away. 

He says, as he begins following her. 

“You’re going to have to stop calling me that.”

“I’ve been looking for you, Mira.”

They’re outside the cantina now, and her name on this stranger’s lips finally gives her pause. “Wanna run that by me again?”

He holds his hands out in front of him, as if she’s stupid enough to believe that means he won’t attack her. “My name is Greer Mantisa. I--”

“Have been looking for me. I got that part.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “The why part is what I’m interested in. And _then_ I’ll decide what to do with you.”

His smile is more lopsided now. It still gives her anxiety. “I thought you Jedi were supposed to be, what’s the word? Peaceful. Pacifists.”

“I’m not a Jedi.” Her words sound like an echo in her soul. “And I’ve killed better than you.” She grins with all her teeth. 

Greer raises an eyebrow at her. “Should we talk somewhere more private?”

“You either tell me what you want, or I’ll put you to sleep and rob you blind.”

He blinks. “Fair enough.”

Being a good person doesn’t necessarily make her a _good person_. She’s still Mandalorian, still a bounty hunter, still a killer. 

“I know people. Like you, not Jedi.”

That’s a fairly easy and concise explanation. “And did you take their heads?”

“I should have. It’s what I was paid for.”

“By who?”

“Not so fast.” 

They stare at each other. She glares, he doesn’t. 

“So you know not Jedi that you didn’t kill.”

“Right.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Isn’t that why you’re on Onderon, searching for others to rebuild the Order?”

It’s not a secret, of course, what they’re doing. It’s just not that widely spoken of. She had heard of Force sensitives here among the beast tamers in the wilds. She had been hoping to convince a few to come with her to their temple, to help learn and teach and rebuild something that should probably have stayed dead. 

She folds her hands behind her back, one finger lightly brushing the handle of her lightsaber. The cool metal makes contact with skin, soothing her. Greer brings bad news, but not because of him. He’s a messenger. An idiot who grew a conscience, whether he knows it or not. 

“Okay,” Mira finally says. “Let’s say I believe. What then?”

“Come back to my ship, and I’ll tell you everything.”

For some stupid, Force-given reason, she believes him. 

Or maybe that’s just the idealism instilled in her by someone who never gave up on miscreants, bullies, and idiots herself.


End file.
